Metal Gear Shopping: Tactical Grocery Action
by Geriatric Yoda
Summary: Snake enters an ordinary supermarket with a simple grocery list. Things start to esculate very soon as they do, and Snake finds himself in the center of another terrorist plot...or he likes to THINK he is. Please R&R and I'll try and R&R back.
1. Infiltrating HappiShop

**"Metal Gear Shopping: Tactical Grocery Action."**

Mr. and Mrs. Wilberforce pushed their heavily-laden trolley out of their local supermarket, one gaudily labelled "HappiShop," tried to steer it (the trolley that is, not the supermarket) straight down the path to their parked red Fiat Panda when, as luck and rubbish design would have it, the trolley swerved into the brick wall…

Or, at least it _should_ have hit the brick wall. Instead it hit something soft which fell under the impact and gave out a low gruff curse. There was a low, barely audible buzz and a man dressed entirely in blue appeared, rubbing his shins and swatting an absurdly long bandana's ends out of his eyes.

Well, Mr and Mrs. Wilberforce weren't quite sure what surprised them more; the fact that a strangely-dressed man had just appeared out of nowhere and was swearing at everything under the sun, or that they now had red exclamation marks over their heads.

"Whatever could they be, dear?" old Mrs. Wilberforce asked he husband as she reached up and plucked the mark out of the air.

"I don't know Maria, but hurry up and put them in the bags before they make us pay for them as well, will you?" Mr. Wilberforce retorted angrily as he stared down at the man who had so rudely just popped-up out of nowhere. "What _do_ you think you're playing at, sir?"

"Playing Hide and Seek?" the strange man answered carefully. _Good cover, Snake_.

"Hmm, bit old for that, aren't we?" Mr. Wilberforce asked sceptically, "And what's with being invisible? Spoils the aim of the game!"

"Look, I'm on a top-secret mission to save the world, so if you two idiots would _please_ mind moving on and _not_ blow my cover any longer, I'd be terribly grateful," Snake snapped as he crawled behind a closely-parked Mini Cooper. _Civilians_, he growled to himself, _can't live with them, can't kill them without failing the mission._

When he was sure he was strategically hidden once again, he tapped his ear and activated his Codec. "Otacon, I almost got caught…god knows what they would've done had they got me."

There came a groan from the other end. "Snake, you're not on a mission, got that? You're just going to get me some milk…and Pombears."

"Huh? _Pombears_?"

"You know those potato-snack things in the shape of…"

"I _know_ what Pombears are, Otacon, it's just that…well, I thought you were a vegetarian."

"What the hell...? Look, there is _no_ Metal Gear in that HappiShop, okay? So get _your_ ass in gear and buy me my milk and Pombears!" Otacon bawled, ending the transmission in a ear-splitting hiss of static.

"Yes, sir," Snake growled, flicked on his Stealth Camouflage (just in case), got up and walked through the automatic double-doors.

What he saw startled him for a split-second, before he instinctively ducked behind the Big Bargains shelf.

"Otacon, do you read me?" he hissed desperately as he peeped back around the corner of the shelf.

"What is it now, Snake?" Otacon asked with a dramatised yawn.

"There's a Spetsnaz by the Fresh Produce stand!"

"Er…so?"

"He must be on patrol!"

"What? Snake, have you lost your mind! There's nothing there, he must be shopping!"

"Sure," Snake growled with the voice of one that knew better, "or that's what he wants everyone to think. It's the perfect cover, only he's in full uniform. That kinda gives him away."

"What are you going to do, Snake?"

"I'm going to do what any spy in his right mind would do."

"Which is…?"

"Interrogate him…"

**End of Part One**

Should I continue this? It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I'm not so sure…


	2. The Interrogation

For Spetsnaz soldier Rakmanikov Marx (who had suffered terribly trying to explain that he wasn't _those_ Marx's brother) life was always a decision. Should he take on the intruder or call for back-up? Sound the alert or pretend he didn't know the enemy had been spotted? Kill the hostages or sell them on the Black Market for a new iPod? Decisions had become a part of Rakmanikov's (who shall be referred to from hereon as life Rak) life, and he loved his life…except when he was deemed expendable.

Why, right now, he was faced with a choice; bananas or oranges? Yellow or…erm, orange? Lovely Potassium or some healthy Vitamin C? Tasty mush or squashy acidic slices? His Commander had given him a simple mission, and yet he just couldn't decide! Damn, who would've thought that shopping would be this difficult!

"Calm yourself, Rakmanikov Marx or Mother Russia, soon ve vill have everything ve need, and provided that we keep the groceries under ten items, we'll be able to use the Express Checkout and get out even faster…" The fully-uniformed soldier muttered to himself as he surveyed the pallets of 5-A-Day goodness. "Oh, grapes! I haven't had grapes for ages, maybe…damn, even _more_ decisions now!"

He was so caught up in his inner-conflict for better nutrition that the combat knife around the throat and gun barrel to the temple came as something of an unpleasant surprise to say the least.

"You know," he captor hissed, "talking to yourself is the first sign of madness."

"And the s-second…?"

"Deciding to buy oranges over bananas; they're hell to open and squirt acid at you like an Alien on crack," answered Snake.

"But I really can't decide, maybe oranges…ahh! I'm _MAD_!"

_Heh…gets them every time_… "Well, now that you've discovered the truth about yourself, how about you answer some questions?"

"And if I don't?" the Spetsnaz asked defiantly.

"Well then, let's just say you won't be around to hear the Manager shout 'Clean-up on Aisle 3!'…"

"Okay, what do you want to know?" Rak murmured sadly, the crotch of his uniform turning darker and damper.

"Who sent you?" Snake snapped, jerking his hold on the soldier for emphasis on the urgency of the matter.

Neither the unfortunate Spetsnaz nor Solid Snake took a second to wonder how everyone around them was reacting to the events at hand. But let's just take a minute to focus on a particular duo of shoppers.

"Oh, look Beatrice," a wrinkly old dear cooed as she rounded the corner onto the aisle Snake and the soldier were situated. "One of those new-fangled _espionage what-you-callits_ is interrogating a Russian soldier in the Fresh Produce aisle!"

""Fancy that, Flora," her equally skin-creased friend mumbled through false teeth, gums and tongue. "Must be asking him where Reduced Section is, I wouldn't doubt…mind you, they can be as modern and as perfect as you like, but they'll never compare to the spies from _our_ days, eh, Flora?"

"Oh, yes, Beatrice! That Bond…ohh, he gets me shaken and not stirred _every_ time!"

"You saucy minx! Come on, before their security realises we've got our Sunday Roast stuffed down our unmentionables…"

Ugh…er, anyway, back to the matter at hand.

"Who sent you?" Snake repeated impatiently, ramming the point home with a meaningful prod from the SOCOM.

"M-my Commander, may Stalin keep him well."

"Okay, moving on…what are you doing here?"

"Purchasing Double Glazing for the new Metal Gear – what else am I supposed to do in the Fruit aisle?" the Spetsnaz muttered sarcastically. But Snake had stopped listening after those two fatal words.

"Metal Gear? _Here_! God, but of course! No one's going to expect the most deadly nuclear weapon technology to be in the Home Of Better Bargains! It must be somewhere out back, in the storage warehouse!"

Before poor Rak could utter a protest or reply, Snake pistol-whipped him good and proper, looked around cautiously, then pushed the Spetsnaz's dazed body under the Kiwi shelf before activating his Codec.

"Otacon! There _is_ a Metal Gear here! The Spetsnaz let it slip…and I think I know where to find it."

"But what about my milk and Pombears?"

"If we get through this, you'll be drinking milk with the President and you'll have _medals_ made out of your precious Pombears! I'm going in!"

"Whatever…"

**End of Part Two**


	3. Weapon Wonderland

**Note: Whoa! Long, like 'an eternity in Pause' long, time away (helluva writer's block, but what can you do?)…but finally I'm back to fanfics, starting with some revivals! Y'all wanted to know what that craaaazy Snake would do next, no?**

**No?**

**Well, you're gonna find out anyways, and be **_**happy**_** about it!**

**Dave**

Part Three

Checking his inventory, Snake realised with a groan that he was woefully under-equipped to handle the nefarious plot that was undoubtedly taking place under the very nose of wholesome wholesale bargain-hunters everywhere. The ruse was a clever one, and it disgusted Snake to his core; where next would the evils of this world chose to hide their technologically advanced weapons of mass devastation? A holiday camp? A _day nursery_? Why did no one ever stop to think of the tourists and children?!

"Well, all except the Turkish," he muttered darkly to himself as he glanced down the Cereal and Biscuits aisle. "Those lie-mongers…I remember that recon mission! Not a single turkey farm in the whole damn country! They deserve everything that's coming to them…"

Muttering darkly under his breath ("_That goes double for _Dallas!_ Otacon sent me on a Search and Rescue mission…never did find JR!_"), Solid Snake stalked down the aisle, stumbling to a halt as a garishly-coloured box caught his eye.

'Kids!' it advertised in loud letters (not _literally_ loud, obviously, because everyone knows actions speak louder than words…duh), 'Do you want to act like the A-Team, rock like Rambo or simple yell "_Yippee-kay-yay, incestuous bad boys!_" like John McClane? Well, now you can! Yes, free inside every box of our cereal is a randomly selected firearm or ammo clip! Start munching, and you'll soon have more firepower than a John Woo flick!"

It was a box of Frosties.

"Nooo!" Snake cried out loud, falling to his knees as his hands clenched the air as he scanned the shelves with bitter eyes. "Damn you! Damn you all! Think of the children! And not in a marketing way, for once, damn your eyes! Damn you Tony the Tiger, with your tail and ears and glock! What's the plan, to make the kids 'Eaaaarn their Stripes' through carrying out _hits_? Huh, huh?! What's the scoring system? 'Two strrripes for a headshot, one for the heart and a deeeemerit for knee-cappings!'?! Da-ha-ha-ham yooooou…!"

And, just like that, an epiphany came to him; if he took _all_ of the 'Frostie Firearms' (_cute, Tony, really friggin' cute…_), then he'd be disarming the local schools _and_ save the world from a Metal Gear and the cigar-chomping facists behind the wheel! It would be like killing two guards with one claymore mine! Genius!

"We must work quick," Snake's eyes narrowed as he tapped his codec. "Otacon!"

" – _Little yellow fish in the deep-blue seeea_ –"

"OTACON!"

"Crap! Uh, yeah, Snake? What now? Found out they got Foxhound working as janitors there, or something? For crying out loud…"

"Hah, that's pretty gutsy coming from a guy who was just singing along to a Little Trees song."

"I was watching '_Help! I'm a Fish_'!"

"Even worse…but never mind that now; listen, I'm going to carry out the standard WOP –"

"_Where's Otacon's Pombears?_"

"Funny…"

"Wasn't meant to be."

"_Weapons on Procurement._ Anyways, I've found an armoury, and I'm about to arm up…"

"But…?"

"But the weapons are all free gifts in boxes of Frosties."

"You can't be serious," snorted Otacon.

"You bet I am: Handguns in 500g boxes, rifles in 750g, and heavy weapons in 1kg-slash-'_family­-size_' boxes."

"You're pulling my chain…"

"Only if it released you into an acid bath…"

"What?"

"Nothing. Well, I'm gonna go for it – better to be in the hands of a hero then the pudgy little paws of Mommy's Lil' Gangster, I always say."

A sigh. "Okay, fine, but be careful about store security." With that, Otacon disconnected.

_Huh, like I don't know how to handle a security guard_, Snake snorted derisively as he started tearing open cereal boxes and snatching out the guns.

He was halfway through the stock, his impossibly large inventory packed with weapons of varying sizes and pain-factor-scores when he heard the unmistakable rattling spin of a revolver's chamber behind him, the muzzle of that same gun pressed firmly against the base of his neck…

"_Ocelot…_!"

**End of Part Three**


	4. Store Security Ocelot

Part Four

The barrel of the revolver was cold and hard, pressed firmly against Snake's neck. "Don't turn round," hissed Ocelot warningly, "I've got a loaded gun with six chambers and a shoplifter in my sights."

"You might want to go after them then, and stop pestering me," Snake muttered through gritted teeth, "I'm just relieving the future generations of these lethal weapons."

"That _is_ shoplifting, and it's illegal –"

"No, I'm Solid Snake…"

"Huh?!"

"Ill Eagle died back in Utah…messy business."

"Uh-huh…I mean it's against the law, as it _not allowed_."

"Oh, and you'd know all about that!" Snake sneered. "I never thought I'd be taking lessons on right and wrong from a terrorist."

"I don't do that anymore," Ocelot assured him, burying the muzzle deeper against Snake's skin, "I got a _real_ job now, with a new title and everything."

"Really?"

"No, I'm just about to shoot you because you took the last _Poptarts _– of course I have!"

"So…what are you? Undercover cop?"

"No."

"Vigilante?"

"_Noooo_…"

"What then?"

Was that a sigh from Ocelot? "Store Security," he growled lowly, digging the muzzle even deeper as if warning against any rebuke.

Snake didn't take the warning. "Mwah-hah-hah!" his outburst caught Ocelot off-guard, and he capitalized on this, ducking under the revolver and disarming the security guard with a swift karate chop, catching the firearm as it fell from his loosened grip. Spinning on his heel, he turned to face his enemy, Ocelot's own revolver pointed dead-center between his eyes.

"Bu-bu-but how?"

"I eat my Weetabix," Snake smirked, "now, tell me about the Metal Gear hidden here."

"Metal Gear?" snorted Ocelot. "Here?! Man, you're crazy…taken one too many flashbangs, have we?"

"You're in on it!" Snaked exclaimed, aghast and yet hardly surprised.

"There's nothing to be _in_ on, Snake! You're just getting paranoid."

"Yeah, well just because you can't see them doesn't mean they're not there," the covert agent promised him, "Secret Agent Training, 101."

"What were the first one hundred lessons?"

" '_Don't break wind when hiding in a cardboard box,' 'No one thinks yellow snow is funny or clever,' 'He who steps on a claymore mine goes to pieces,' 'Wearing cammo is no excuse to go around goosing the guards'_..."

"I was _joking_, jeez…you seriously believe they have a Metal Gear here in HappiShop? What are you, retarded?"

"Well…"

"Don't answer that…look, as Store Security, it's my right to hold you in custody. So, in other words, you're _my_ responsibility now –"

"You mean prisoner."

"Let's not split hairs…"

"Yeah, it's not even rabbit season."

"Geez, you _are_ retarded – anyway, from this moment on you are with me! If it turns out there _is_ a Metal Gear, then I'll drop the charges if you put it out of action…sound good to you?" Ocelot held out his hand and, after a moment's pause, Snake shook it.

Zzzaaapp!

"About as good as head-butting a breeze block," Snake muttered as Ocelot collapsed to the ground, the hand he'd just shook with twitching and smoking from the shock it had take from the tazer Snake had concealed in his palm. "And about as productive…Otacon told me if I did it the air conditioning would come on!"

**End of Part Four**


	5. Of Recaps, Boxes and Sugar Hypes

**Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome, once again, to another installment of Metal Gear Madness! After what I know must have seemed like an age of absence (for different, mostly personal, reasons), 'Metal Gear Shopping' has returned! Thanks to those who continued to encourage me to keep this going - you guys rock!**

**GeriatricYoda**

**Part Five**

With Ocelot (_Commissar Jerk-off_ to Snake) unconscious and hidden safely out-of-sight in the meat-locker of Happi Mart's butcher counter, Snake set about his mission once again with renewed vigor. This meant another communication with Otacon.

Kneeling down behind the Reduced shelves, Snake pressed the device to his ear. "Otacon, are you there?"

"_Ain't no one here but us zebras_," came the mystifying response.

_Dammit! Trust Otacon to leave at an important stage in this mission! Not only that, he has talking _wildlife _taking over for him! I want my own espionage-agent baboon!_ Snake was furious, "Great, just great…well, can you take a message?"

"God, you're so dense…"

"Hey, I've saved the world, buddy! I will not take attitude from some jumped-up horse playing referee! Apologize right now, or I swear – so help me – I'll see why some countries consider you a _delicacy_!"

"Dammit, Snake –"

"Apologize, or I'll snipe Uncle Dingo!" the spy was visibly steaming at this point.

"Snake, it's me! Otacon…relax already…and, Uncle Dingo?"

"You need to get better help…and sure, they're part of the same family, aren't they? Dingoes are horses, right?"

"Uhh, sure, Snake, and today is brought to you by the letter eight –"

"_My favorite letter…_" Snake murmured wistfully.

"-Whatever…anyway, what did you want this time?" inquired Otacon as, unseen by his trigger-happy partner, he took off his headset – keeping the microphone close-by – and played a stint of _Guitar Hero III_.

"Right! Mission update! I came here, semi-retired and with enough disease in my veins to kill the entire Brady Bunch, with the simple goals of buy some milk and pombears – which, funnily enough, now come in hedgehog flavor. I mean, come on! Hedgehogs? How does that even work? How do they get those tiny little pincushions to mate with the bears in the first place?"

"Uh-huh…"

"Well, anyway, milk and pombears…yeah, I was so close to getting my hands on them that I could almost _smell_ them! Not that either were past this sell-by-date or decomposing, or anything, it's just a youtha-yewtha-_just an expression_…when what should happen but I find out that a Metal Gear is being hidden here!"

"Right…"

"So, now I just need to find out how to get into their storage warehouse…which is why I'm calling you, Otacon, what do you suggest I do?"

"_You're a star_!"

"Well, thanks and everything, but that doesn't exactly relate to my problems, now, does it?"

"Uh," there was a low rumbling as Otacon fumbled his way to replacing his headset. "Sorry, Snake, what was that last bit again?"

"Warehouse – me – getting in – how?"

"Gee, thanks for the _Idiots Guide_ version…well, have you ever considered, oh, I don't know…_not_ bothering with this lunacy?"

"Not an option; I'm in too deep, the conspiracy goes deeper than we feared, we haven't much time! _Tell me where the bomb is, or innocent people will die_!"

"…Come again? What bomb? What _are_ you on about now, Snake?"

"Er, nothing, nothing at all…just a _24_ flashback…but, seriously, that's a no; I have to get in there, so many lives count on it."

There was a loud groan as Otacon thought long and hard about his next suggestion. "Well, then, how about just asking the management nicely if you can get in? Give the pretense that you're a Health and Safety inspector."

"Packing _this_ much heat?" Snake asked incredulously as he patted the belt that carried all his firearms, no matter how many or what sizes they came in. "How can I carry all these weapons, anyway? Where are they all kept?"

"Well, Snake…you know the material Santa uses for his sack of toys?"

"Uh-huh…?"

"It's not that."

"Didn't think so…Nick may be jolly, but he'd be a fool to give away the patent for that stuff," Snake grunted, shaking the cramp out of his legs and knocking over a stack of week-old tuna cans. He watched them fall like Newton watched the apple – namely, after one struck him on the head. "I'll call you back, Otacon…"

"You mean I'm free?"

"Har-har…"

Mrs. Harris growled with barely restrained rage as her shopping trolley insisted on taking its own route for the umpteenth time as she struggled to keep it under control as she neared the Cereal Aisle.

At the foot of said aisle was a pyramid of Cap'n Crunch boxes stacked almost seven-feet high. Now, it wasn't just the special offer that caught her attention ('_Buy One Box, Get Your Kids Hyper For Free!_'), but one box in particular that looked different from the rest. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was the eyes; something about them terrified her. This wasn't just some friendly cartoon captain, but a Captain who had seen death, had even killed, such was their coldness…

"Hey, lady, you've got lazy eye, you know that?" barked Cap'n Crunch gruffly, although his mouth never moved.

Screaming, Mrs. Harris took off towards the nearest checkout. A week later would see her in a padded cell, scrawling '_Cap'n Crunch commands the A-Team_' with the sauce from her spaghetti-o dinners.

From within his hollowed-out hideaway, Snake stifled a laugh as he contacted Otacon. "Come in Otacon…I'm a genius!"

"Oh, really, how did you figure that one out? Did the Colonel give you a gold star or something, or did you just finish reading 'See Spot Run'?"

"Enough with the sarcasm, already…and I mean I'm an innovator of the business! I've created my own version of the cardboard box trick!"

"Oh, dear…how so?"

"I now have a cardboard _pyramid_ trick, I'm hiding in a stack of Cap'n Crunch cereal boxes!"

"What the hell, Snake? Cereal? Why would you do that? What did you do with all the cereal, for that matter?"

"Oh, I ate it…I ate it _all_! Hee-hee-hee-hee! Me eyes are all fireworky! Sod off, Honey Monster, there's only room for one in here! Count Chocula! Stop running around in your speedos, you crazy vampire, you! The Easter Bunny's stealing that woman's Christmas turkey…"

"Ohhh-kay, Snake…good luck with that whole 'sneaking-in' thing…"

"The Lucky Charms Leprechaun is breakdancing in the Baked Goods Aisle…go, Leppy, go, Leppy, GO! Hop around! Hop around! Hop, hop, hop, hop…"

**End of Part Five**

-Because he was a cartoon image, keep up.


	6. Sneaky Like The Elephant

_Last time, on 'Metal Gear Shopping'..._

_**Snake**__: Durh, I are stoopid! Me take trip to Happi Mart, but me too crazy to do simple grocercies (also, me took too many flashbangs to the brains). So I are attacking people left an' down, lookin' for a Metal Gear! Me don't care if Otacon don't get his Pombears an' milk, me hero – not manservant! I have important mission, now! Me eat cereal to sneak past guards, hur-hur-hur..._

The story recap was brought to you by Otacon.

**Part Six**

"Silly rabbit," Snake giggled, his Crunch-induced sugar-high showing no signs of abating, "Trix are for _kids_! Although I do seem to remember Mr. T eating some with his milk – _no_, Mr. Rabbit! No Trix for you! Dammit, step away from the shelves...why? Well, how's about because I knew you'd try something, so I rigged the entire shelf with claymores, huh? Huh?!"

There was a deafening explosion as a mildly surprised pensioner was thrown fifty feet, over several aisles, and came to land with the sickening crunch that could have only been the breaking of several bones and a four-piece table and chairs set.

"...Or was it the Cat Food shelf? Damn...Hey, Mr. Rabbit? Yeah, come over here a minute. You can have all the Trix you want..."

Within the confines of his pyramid of cereal boxes, Snake made a sudden wrenching motion with his hands and smiled grimly at the air before him.

"Just as soon as I snap your neck. Heh, that's right, twitch! Twitch like Bugs in the Electric Chair! Oh, yeah...I'm a Trix tyrant, a Kool Aid killer – I'm Solid Snake, bh! Now, to get to that Metal Gear..."

The Cap'n Crunch pyramid shuffled a few feet towards the rear of the store, paused, then scurried back. A knife stabbed through one of the Cap's bellies and carved a neat, square hole out of it, from which one of Snake's hands shot out, grabbing a box of chocolate Pop Tarts and pulling them inside with him.

"For the road," he grunted, and the pyramid shuffled off once more in the direction of the doors into Happi Mart's warehouses.

It took Snake two hours to travel thirty feet to the doors in question; ten minutes of careful stealth, and one hundred and ten minutes of sugar-induced coma. When he finally reached his destination, he took a victory stance that was completely wasted within the confines of his pyramid disguise.

"Not even words of admiration?" sulkily, he pushed the door open a crack and peeked inside.

Sat on either side of the corridor beyond were two security guards dressed in what would have counted as your average security-personnel's garb had it not been for the gas masks the both sported, the mouth pieces contorted into maddened grins. To his horror, Snake realised these were underlings of Psycho Mantis! Yes, it was so obvious, how could they possibly hope to full anyone with their 'Happi Guards' emblazoned jackets? It was easy for Snake to recognise a brainwashed lackey when he saw one.

"Hey," rasped the one on the left, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "you watch the game last night? Pretty cool, huh?"

"Dude," groaned the second, "why do you even _watch_ Water Polo, anyway? Do you actually enjoy watching horses in swimming pools?"

"...what? I was talking about the Football, idiot!"

"Oh, yeah...well, it was good, I guess."

There was an uneasy silence that last several minutes before the one on the left rose from his seat. "Well, I gotta go take a leak."

"Fresh Produce aisle," interjected the second without missing a beat, "but you better pay for it."

"Christ, what the hell?! You say that every time! It's not even funny anymore – and there's a cereal-pyramid staring at us."

"Really?" the second guard leaned forward in his seat to get a better look through the crack in the door. "Dude, sweet! The store must've gotten those new 'Googly Eyes Cap'n Crunch' Boxes! Look how crazy he looks!"

"Oh, really?" muttered the first as he crouched beside the pyramid, "And did they happen to buy the 'Disembowled Cap'n Crunch' boxes, too? See, the stomach's all ripped out."

"Sick!" crowed the second with delight, "The first R-rated cereal box! Hey, if they ever do a _Saw_ promotion of toys, I'm so collecting the set!"

"Grow up," groaned the first as he stuck a tentative hand into the gaping hole, groping around for several seconds before latching onto something small and soft.

"Huh?" the guard retrieved his hand, staring at it incomprehensively. It was holding a chocolate Pop Tart, which looks suspiciously bloated and dripped through his fingers. "What the hell...?"

"Hey, is that a Pop Tart? Can I have it? Can I, can I, huh, huh?!"

"Of course you can't; policy strictly prohibits us from removing these masks while on duty, so no eating."

"Well, _crap_," muttered Cap'n Crunch darkly, a small dart-gun protruding from his stomach and shooting both guards in the blink of an eye, "you could've told me that before – you know how hard it is to inject a Pop Tart with tranqs when you're getting cramps up your butt-bone?"

"Heeeey," murmured the second guard as he swayed in his seat, "they got the 'Moody Cussing Cap'n Crunch' boxesssszzzzz..."

"Idiot," groaned his partner as they both crashed to the ground.

Shuffling his pyramid disguise into the corridor, Snake waited until the doors stopped swinging behind him before pushing the boxes off him. Stretching out to his full-height, he scanned his new surroundings for clues. He quickly found one pinned on a nearby bulletin board. It read:

'Head of Security: P. Man Tiss, Office 2B'

"Heh," Snake snickered as he stripped one of the snoozing guards. "_P.M.T_...stupid Mantis."

Minutes later, the espionage agent was disguised yet again, this time as a Happi Guard (mask and everything). Snatching-up the two handguns from the fallen guards he looked around to make sure no one had seen him, pushed the cereal pyramid to one side, and proceeded up the corridor...

...only to return in order to rearrange the two prone bodies in a loving embrace in the middle of the floor.

"Let's see them explain _that_ when one of them is stripped to his boxers," Snake laughed before heading off...

To confront Psycho Mantis.


	7. A Psycho's Lot is Not a Happi One

Note: One of these days I'm just going to give up with the 'sorry for the long absence's speech, as they seem to be becoming more and more unavoidable, sadly. Anyway, Metal Gear Shopping _hasn't_ been cancelled – I don't think it ever really will be, no matter how far apart the updates may be – and here's the next instalment!

**Part Seven**

Psycho Mantis sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose soothingly, blinked twice, swivelled his seat around to look at the wall behind him, lined with framed photos of himself, HappiShop's Employee of the Month for Nineteen Months running (he honestly had _no_ idea why the manager felt so strongly inclined to announce his name every month in a monotonous drone, all glassy-eyed...) and counted to ten before looking back over his desk at the bank of monitors set before him. And he groaned; the stupid people were still there.

It was incredible, really, how he could enter practically anyone's mind and make them do absolutely anything he wanted, and yet he couldn't stop them from being just plain _dumb_. He could telekinetically suspend a teenage shoplifter by his ankles above the cacti display (_seriously, what the hell? Who buys cacti anymore? The Mexicans? That's like a New Yorker buying a taxi or a fire hydrant – the things are bloody everywhere! Douches..._), but he simply couldn't manipulate the part of the brain that would've _stopped_ the kid from trying to smuggle a cheese grater down his pants in the first place (although – judging by his pained expression – Mantis felt he should have waited a bit longer, just to see how far he got before collapsing from loss of blood).

Right now, he was staring across at an OAP trying desperately to stuff an entire frozen turkey under her floral hat. And we weren't even talking a small, whole-yet-just-enough-for-one turkey here. Nooo, the daft old bat just _has_ to try and go all the way, fighting a losing battle with a gigantic, so-big-it-even-makes-Godzilla-stop-and-think-"_Damn_!" XXL-sized turkey. Now that he thought about it, the last time he'd seen a bird _that_ big, it seemed obsessed with teaching him how to count and to memorise what words began with the letter 'S' ("Suh...poon...spoon! Suh...lim...slim!" "Suh...crew this crap, what happened to the Playboy Channel?").

Sighing deeply, Mantis focused on the nearest security guard to the culprit in question. "Barney, kindly apprehend that old lady trying to make her hat into a damn TARDIS and just let her know that if she carries on we'll have no choice but to stuff her in Aisle Seventeen, along with the rest of the Frozen Vegetables..."

'_You want I should whack 'er, boss?'_ came the silent reply.

"What?" _Dammit, what was with HappiShop _insisting_ on hiring so-called 'reformed gangsters' for their security forces?!_ "No, Barney, I do _not_ want you to quote-whack-her-unquote. Now, you see, if I had wanted you to 'whack her' I would have clearly said 'Barney, whack that broad' and –"

Instinct told him to slap his forehead a split second before the muffled bang of a far-away gunshot reached his office.

"You shot her, didn't you?"

'_Well, you _told_ me to..._'

"Dammit, every time! You know the drill, dispose of the body and claim she was a terrorist stuffing plutonium rods someplace where only Paxo should go...then report back to base."

'_Boss..._'

"Oh, and Barney? Hand over your copy of _GTA IV_...I knew it was a mistake..."

Once Mantis had calmed down and recollected his thoughts he waved the bank of monitors aside (He didn't hear a squeak from the table's castors – thanks to WD-40! Available At All Good Stores – And Some Houses of Stoners Who Can't Even Order Weed Right – Now!) and stared at the one door into his office and sighed in exasperation.

"Snake, if you tried to crack open the door any wider, Roseanne Barr would be able to roll on in...jeez."

There was a long silence through which Mantis was unsure as to whether or not he could hear a inner-monologue of a man in turmoil. After a few seconds he realised that Snake was on his Codec to who-knew-whom.

"...yes, Psycho Mantis...no, not the Black Sabbath tribute band! Hell, Otacon," (_well, that answers _that_ query..._), "you spend _how_ many months working in Shadow Moses close to the guy and – yes, dammit, _that_ Psycho Mantis...I know, I was surprised, too...what? No, not that he's working here – that he's alive at all! I popped his apple in the breadbasket when I switched my dillies with my dallies and he bought the farm...

"What do you mean 'you have absolutely no idea what I just said'? Don't you _speak_ American? What are you, a commie? No, don't answer that, you name alone screams Russian...yeah? Yeah? Well, y'know what, _pal_? Why don't you just drag your Sovvy ass back to Siberia – Alaska, whatever! Better yet, take your 'comrade' Ocelot with you...yeah? Well, stick it in your ear, 'cos that's where a Codec's _supposed_ to go!"

There was a moment of throat clearing, and then Solid Snake was kicking the door down, Socom handgun waving wildly in Mantis' direction (not literally, of course...this isn't _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_, you know).

"Okay, Mantis, how did you know it was me?" he growled in that pathetically weak macho grate of his.

"Where to start...? Well, I caught you on camera as soon as you entered the carpark, for one thing – _thermals beat camo_, Snake!" he added quickly as the agent went to speak. "Secondly, you raging mind screams to me like only one smacked to the tits with FoxDie can...thirdly, if all else had eluded me, there was always the sudden absence of consciousness from my two guard you shot earlier; I know, security guard brainwaves are close to minimal at best, but they _are_ there, believe it or not. Lastly...you screamed like a little girl when you heard the gunshot from Barney, even though it was miles away...just like you scream when I encouraged that charming Meryl girl to slap you stupid (which seems to have had a permanent effect on you, it would seem...)."

"You had her hypnotised, you fiend!"

"I'm talking about before then. All I had to do was ask...you wouldn't believe how willing she was...but I digress. What is it you _want_, Snake?"

"Where's the Metal Gear?!" roared Solid Snake angrily. "I know it's here somewhere, all the signs point this way! Well," he considered thoughtfully, "all except for that blasted Scarecrow. He was pointing _every_ damn way..."

"I'm afraid I don't know what –"

"**X!!**"

"...Seriously, what the hell did you just scream that for?" sighed Psycho Mantis wearily.

Snake blinked, perplexed. "Uhh, I don't know...I just suddenly felt the urge to skip all the talking and get right to the bit where I shoot you up a bit and you throw things at me whilst murmuring like an internet pervert, and that just inexplicably sprang to mind." He shrugged.

"You don't say...a fight you want, then?"

"...I think that's what I said," Snake nodded warily.

"Very well," Mantis murmured, his voice dropping to worrying tones as he floated into the air like some anorexic, gimped-up missile set to launch. "Bring it on, big boy..."

"See, _there_ you go with the pervy talk!"

**End of Part Seven**


	8. Cue Boss Battle Music!

**Part Eight**

Snake shifted into an offensive stance, paused, and checked that his Socom was actually loaded (Gods knew, he didn't want a repeat of the _tank_ incident…ol' Vulcan Raven didn't seem to take to kindly to being fought off with a snowball barrage when he was all hyped-up for 'glorious combat') before snapping his head back up to face Psycho Mantis who was, at the time, lazily performing the backstroke in mid-air.

"Ready yet…?" he hissed with a barely suppressed yawn. "I think I'm on my seventeenth lap here…"

"I swear it used to feel like time stood still when I checked my weapons!" Snake was flustered, but quickly composed himself and pointed the gun at the telekinetic evildoer. "Okay, I'm ready…say your prayers."

"_Hail Mary, full of grace_…"

"…wait, are you serious?" the espionage agent blinked in surprise – this wasn't a response he was used to.

And in the instant that his eyes were closed, a surveillance monitor shot across the room and struck him squarely on the forehead.

"Douchebag…so predictable." Behind the gas-mask, Psycho Mantis rolled his eyes as Snake sank to his knees like a grizzly sack of potatoes.

"Err…_pass the water, Stalin_, _Hitler can't take the jalapenos…_" struggling to his feet, Snake shook the dizziness away and glowered across the room, but Psycho Mantis already knew it was coming and deflected it back, causing Snake to step back in shock_._ "Meanie – eat lead!"

"Sorry," Mantis yawned as he stopped all three shots the agent fired inches from his face, "tried it, didn't like it, was up all night with the craps."

"Well, then, it looks like Papa Snake will have to force-feed someone tonight!" Grinning like a madman, Snake switched hands with his weapon. "_Hah_!" he struck a triumphant pose. "You're going down like the gimped-up Blitz survivor you are! You're helpless…" without another word, Snake unloaded his Socom at Mantis.

Every single bullet followed suit of the first three, only this time Psycho Mantis took the time to manipulate the entire emptied clip in the air to spell "Y-O-U-S-T-U-P-I-D-S-T-U-P-I-D-H-E-A-D," one letter at a time. Once he was done, he let the bullets fall to the floor, tinkling like cold rain (_dammit, _Snake thought to himself with a grimace_, I really need to pee now_!).

"Now tell me, Snake, what was that supposed to accomplish?" Mantis finally asked as he sat himself, crossed-legged, five feet above his desk.

"I dunno," Snake shrugged sheepishly, "again, I just suddenly felt that if I swapped hands for no particular reason I'd beat you for sure."

"Really? How so?"

"Uhh…ambidextrous people are immune to psychics, maybe…?"

"No, they're just pretentious for no good reason."

"Ahh…HAH!" whipping out a Stinger missile launcher, Snake shot one off at Mantis. (And I just screwed my eyes tight – I cannot _believe_ I just wrote that line!)

An invisible bubble seemed to protect Mantis from the small explosion that resulted, and Snake cursed out loud as he was slammed against a wall from the shockwaves.

"See?" the leather-clad menace murmured conversationally, "Size _doesn't_ matter – I can stop anything you throw at me."

"So I see…" grunted Snake as he picked himself up from the floor for the second time. "Nice touch with the marshmallows, though."

"Thanks," picking the mallows out of the air where they had been roasting in the heat, Psycho Mantis offered them to Snake, "any chance…?"

"Thanks, but I've brought my own," so saying, Snake took out a bag of frozen vegetables, tore open the bag and proceeded guzzle it hungrily. "Mmm…_revitalizing_!"

"What the…_hell_?"

"A friend of mine told me that fresh, frozen veg had remarkable healing properties – and he should know his food."

"Chef, is he…?"

"Nah, photographer."

"Riiiight…feeling healed at all?"

"No, and now I have a mouthful of broken teeth and a frozen tongue. _Son of a bitch_! See if he gets anything more than a steaming pile of turd for Christmas for the next ten years. 'Veg is good for you,' my ass! _And_ he swore blind that orange juice could bring you back from the brink of death. Well, I ain't touching another glass for the rest of my life!"

"…have you quite finished you strange, deranged little man?" Psycho Mantis asked, his voice slightly muffled thanks to a molten pink lump of marshmallow covering the majority of his mask's mouthpiece.

"Huh…? Oh, yeah, sorry…where were we?"

"You were about to leave my store and take up employment with a men's escort service," Mantis murmured suggestively.

"Heh, nice try, freak," Snake grinned as he shook the subliminal mindwave-thingies out of his head, "but that's Otacon's department."

"Look, I'd love to hang around here all day and rearrange the furniture via your head," Mantis yawned as he lowered himself to the ground, "but I actually get paid good money to protect this establishment, and I'd very much like to keep my job. You win the fight out of sheer stupidity alone – anyone who would willingly ingest frozen goods, hoping for some miracle cure is beyond anything even I can make them do. You win, you crazy fool –"

"Hey, if you're gonna be Mr. T, can I be Murdoch?"

"What the hell, sure, you're more than qualified, which just goes to prove my point…so, I'm beaten, you can proceed to do whatever you want. Just do your thing and get the hell out of my store as soon as possible. Oh, and your Banned For Life as soon as you step foot outside, so make sure you get everything you came for before then.

"Now…what is it you actually _want_?"

"Hmm? Oh, well, a set of Claymores that don't blow up _just_ after you've set them because a speck of dust happened to blow across the path of its sensors before you can even get to your feet would be good – oh! And a really good tux with one of those self-drying gizmos from _Back to the Future Part II _installed in it, preferably black. And maybe a bandana that doesn't get stuck in every fan I walk past…"

"_Dammit_, Snake! I meant answers, not a crazy gift list! What do…you…want…to.._know_?"

"Oh, yeah, right…where's the Metal Gear?!"

"For the last time, there isn't a Metal Gear, Snake."

"Hah! Don't try your psychic mumbo-jumbo-hotdogs on me! That's reverse psy-cauliflower you're using, right there!"

"Still hungry, are we…? And it's 'reverse psychology,' Snake and, no, I'm not using that on you. There's no Metal Gear anywhere in HappiShop."

"There you go again! That must mean you _are _using it on me which, in that case, _must_ mean that…!" Snake gasped, staring in disbelief at the store's chief of security. "If you say there's not a Metal Gear _anywhere_ in HappiShop…"

"Dammit, Snake, grow a brain…"

"_That_ must mean that the entire store's a Metal Gear!"

"…come on, that's retarded even by your standards." Psycho Mantis sighed.

"Yeah, I guess you're right…but there _is_ a Metal Gear somewhere here, isn't there?"

"No…"

"Hah! I knew it! You'd suck under an interrogation! I'm going to search the warehouses!"

"Sure, whatever…knock yourself out, you'll never find it," Mantis muttered darkly as the crazed agent charged out of the room. "Because it's not there to be found…have fun, now."

Sighing, Mantis toyed with the thought of putting his forces on high alert, but realized this would just be pandering to the sick agent's fancies. It would just be safer for all involved to give Snake a wide-berth.

"_Mantis to all persons – if you happen to come across a lone man dressed in a blue sneaking-suit and a bandana that makes the said suit practically pointless, just ignore him. He's just passing through._"

Pulling the gum-like mallow of the mouthpiece of his mask, Psycho Mantis sat down behind his desk and set about rearranging his office…

**End of Part Eight**


	9. Ninja Version Two

**Part Nine**

**Three Months After the Shadow Moses Incident**

He was near death, a shadow of the man he once was and certainly half the man he once was (but losing a limb or two would do that to you). He lay there, motionless yet conscious at the same time, on a cold, hard, unforgiving table that had a nasty lump just in the middle of his back – it was driving him nuts, but he could neither move nor signal to the many lab-coated denizens surrounding him on all sides, which was a pain (hey, at least his mind was as sharp as ever, if he could still make stinking puns). The spotlight shone down on him, blinding him from fully being able to identify those bustling at his sides. All he had was their voices...

"Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability... sadly, we're a bit tight on budget since Mr. Wise Guy to my right made the decision to invest in a robotic nurse. _So_, we're going to have to see what we can do with a couple of Bargain Bin limbs, industrial-grade pipe-cleaners and a Commodore 64."

"Hey, that's _my_ Commodore!"

"Talk to the surgical glove, 'cause the face-mask ain't listening."

"Ohh, _burn_!"

"If we could please bring some decorum to this room...?"

"Huh? Uh, okay – what do you think about a pink, floral pattern for the walls?"

"_Decorum_, you dunce, not _decorating_. Can we _please_ get started! Nurse – Scalpel!"

"Bidee-bidee-beep, sure thing Buck!"

"For the last time, it's _Edwin_ – damn Wal Mart technology-aisle..."

Behind the mask, he rolled his eyes and wished himself deaf. It was going to be a _long_ night...

* * *

**Present Day**

"...So then I was like, 'I'm going to shoot you fulla shots!' and Mantis was like, 'Ohh noes!, _Again_? Bullets are bad for my skin!' and I was like 'Lol, tough ti-'"

"_Snake,_" groaned Otacon, "are you _ever_ going to shut up and just get my groceries?! You've been telling me the same story _seventeen_ times now – it was boring the first time!"

"It's not my fault," grouched Solid Snake, a dark scowl falling across his face, "it's just that this warehouse is so _big_! I swear it wasn't half the size on the outside – gasp!"

"What, Snake? And did you just actually _say_ 'gasp'?"

"I've figured out this building's secret!"

"...You've been walking around in circles?"

"No, it's really a TARDIS!"

"A what? Oh, come on Snake, grow up! You're just walking around in circles!"

"It's bigger on the inside than the outside – amazing!"

"No, Snake... you're working in circles; I'm watching your signal going round and round that one stack of boxes."

There was a heavy silence as Snake trailed to a slow halt, scratching his chin.

"Y'know," he murmured finally, "I _wondered_ why they seemed to stock so many Slim Jims..."

"I'm going now, Snake..."

"Fine, leave me like that! I don't need you anyway, with your 'anime' this and 'mecha' that and 'omg, _Naruto_!' It's pathetic..."

+Sure Is – Everyone Knows Bleach Is A Hundred Times Better.+

"Huh, thought you were leaving, Otacon?" Snake retorted acidly, "And what's with the sudden _big_ voice? You trying to grow a pair?"

+Cute, But I'm Not Your Friend.+

"Huh? Where are you, then?" the agent whirled around, eyes wide as they scanned his surroundings.

+I'm All Around You, Snaaake.+

"...You're the Slim Jims?"

+Yes, Snake, I'm The Slim Jims – Have Some Sense, Will You?!+

"Well, you've got the temper, at least..."

There was a clatter of noise above him, but before Snake could look up, a figure crashed to the floor in front of him. An almalgam of flesh and metal struggled to its feet, turned on its heel (which was easier than you'd think, since its heels consisted of swivel-chair wheels) and glared balefully at Snake with eyes made from hot-red, plug-in nightlights shaped like snowmen.

+Why Couldn't I Have Just Stayed Dead...?+ it asked morosely. +Anything's Better Than Having To Listen To You...+

"Grey Fox...?"

+No, Santa Clause+

"_Santa?!_"

+Oh, I Give Up...+

* * *

Okay, short I know, but I'm having trouble keeping this story going – I might just wrap it up in the next part or two – what does everyone think of that?

Dave


End file.
